


I Want You Here

by FlyoutViolet (SleepySappho)



Series: We'll Never Forget Ourselves [2]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hlomecoming, Other, Shelling, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepySappho/pseuds/FlyoutViolet
Summary: Wyatt Pothos lets herself realize what she already knows.
Relationships: Wyatt Pothos/Wyatt Quitter
Series: We'll Never Forget Ourselves [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970569
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	I Want You Here

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really write blaseball anymore but this was almost half finished already and let it never be said I am not susceptible to being bribed with spicy art

Wyatt Pothos can pinpoint the exact moment she fell in love with Wyatt Quitter, but it's two more excruciating years before she actually realizes it. It's easy to write off the pull she feels as just physical attraction, albeit very _intense_ attraction, the names they call each other in private as the shared comfort of survivors of the same traumatic event, the _looks_ and the _touches_ as just… Quitter being Quitter. 

Easy to bandage up the hole in her chest, keep herself from getting too vulnerable.

She's doing a damn good job of it too, keeping Quitter at arm's length. Avoiding moments alone with them, forcing her eyes not to linger. 

She does a damn good job, until it all comes crashing down. 

* * *

Pothos grits her teeth and takes another sip from her fluted glass of sparkling cider, wishing it was something stronger. She knew Hlomecoming wouldn't exactly be her scene, but she didn't expect to find it so _annoying_. She slumps against the wall, sullenly, eyes locking on to the source of her frustration. 

Wyatt Quitter is surrounded by a throng of friends and admirers, too-large crown sitting lopsided ok their head as they lounge in their throne and hold mock court as rightfully elected Hlomecoming Emprex, hearing the petitions of their "subjects" and passing down Imperial decrees, grinning. 

A chorus of laughter breaks out as Quitter hands down a particularly amusing judgement, throwing their own head back in laughter. Pothos finishes her cider, abandoning the glass on a nearby table and crossing her arms. She's upset, mostly with herself for _being_ upset, which she has absolutely no right to be. If she was a better friend she'd be happy for them. She'd be in the middle of that crowd, laughing along. 

She is happy for them. Quitter always goes out of their way to be kind, even if they have a bit of a sarcastic way of doing it, and this kind of recognition is no more than they deserve. It's been a difficult season for everyone, with Jaylen back from the dead and dishing out hell, 14 players turned to ash. It's good to see Quitter smiling again, surrounded by people who care about them, laughing together. It is. It's just—

They came here together. Walked in the door arm-in-arm, as _friends_ but almost like something else, maybe. And it's utterly hypocritical, utterly absurd to be upset about not getting to monopolize Quitter's time, when she's spent so long avoiding them. She just wishes… she _wants…_

She wants to push her way through the crowd, lift Quitter up in her arms and carry them away from here. Somewhere they can be alone together, somewhere, somehow _safe_ from this nightmare. It's absurd, the way she looks at Quitter lately and just sees how _small_ they are, how _fragile_. They're not, really, no better or worse equipped to deal with the dangers of this life than she is, but something in Pothos just wants to protect them. 

It's silly, stupid, condescending, as ugly an impulse as her absurd jealousy at watching her teammate surrounded by so many admiring people, watching _Kichiro Fucking Guerr_ a play with their tie while Allison Abbott makes eyes at both of them—

Whatever, it's none of her business who Quitter fucks, even if it is Guerra and Abbott. They're their own person, perfectly capable of managing their own sex life without any involvement or interest from her. Thinking about Quitter with another person—other _people_ —shouldn't bother her. It _doesn't_ bother her.

She's getting worse at convincing herself of that. 

"You look like you're having fun," Basilio Mason quips, leaning against the wall next to her. His eyes follow Pothos's sightline to the center of the room, and he sighs. "Think I can guess what's bothering you."

It's not worth trying to pretend, with him. Pothos groans and shoves her face in her hands. "What is wrong with me?" 

He throws a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Way I see it, you're a lesbian fuckboi who's never had to deal with emotional vulnerability in a romantic context before. You idiot." Pothos glares at him, and he smiles back serenely. "Have you considered talking to the person you've been head over heels in love with for the last two years? You know, about your feelings? I think we'd all ready appreciate it, the tension is honestly getting kind of unbearable." 

"Fuck you," she grumbles.

"No, no," he says, like he's explaining algebra to a six year old, "it's _Quitter_ you want to fuck. Easy mistake, I know." 

"You're an asshole."

"You love me. And more importantly, you love _them_. So go talk to them about it, like grownups do."

"I don't love them," Pothos says, and Basilio doesn't even dignify that with a response, just raises an eyebrow dubiously. "Besides," Pothos grumbles, conceding the point, "looks like they're pretty occupied with the San Seattle Threesome Machine over there, anyway." 

"And they've still been stealing glances at you all night. As far as Quitter's concerned a night with two of the most attractive women in blaseball is a consolation prize compared to spending time with you. That doesn't exactly happen every day." Basilio claps her on the back encouragingly. "Try not to fuck it up too badly." 

Pothos gives him the middle finger as he walks away, and he gives one back without bothering to look over his shoulder. She pushes off the wall, heading for the nearest bathroom. She needs to clear her head. 

Pothos splashes cold water on her face, staring herself in the eyes in the streaked bathroom mirror. 

So.

Maybe she's a little bit in love with Wyatt Quitter. 

She expects the realization, or more accurately the _confession_ , to be a little more shattering to her sense of self. Being a lovestruck idiot over her teammate shouldn't exactly mesh with the stoic image she has of herself, but the notion easily nestles into her heart, warming her. She's Wyatt— _Wanda_ Pothos. She's strong, she's competitive, she's good at what she does. She takes what she wants. 

She knows what that is, now. 

She scrutinizes her reflection, making sure her hair is still in the carefully organized disarray it was when she arrived, making sure there's no stains or stray crumbs of _hors d'oeuvre_. Satisfied, she strides back onto the main dancefloor. 

She lingers on the fringes of the crowd for a moment, suddenly unsure what she's trying to do. Was she going to just push through the crowd, walk up to Quitter, loudly confess her feelings in front of everyone? Pick them up like she'd been fantasizing about, carry them away without a word of explanation? _Stupid_. This isn't the time or the place for this conversation.

Then Quitter turns, meeting her eyes from halfway across the floor. Their joyful grin softens slightly into something sweeter, and Pothos can feel herself softening in turn. Quitter tilts their head a little, an invitation. _I want you here. I want you closer to me._

It's a start.

Pothos knows she's grinning like an idiot as she starts to weave her way through the crowd of bodies towards Quitter. She doesn't care. Maybe she should have realized earlier with the way she never minds when Quitter teases her, tries to get reactions from her. She doesn't care if she looks like an idiot in front of them, as long as it makes them smile. 

Every step makes her feel a little lighter, a little warmer, like there's something glowing brighter in her chest at the proximity. Can it really be this easy? Can she just, reach out, and expect a hand to be reaching back?

Pothos feels a hand on her shoulder but ignores it, stepping forward anyway and shrugging it off. The hand grabs her again, harder, and she watches the smile fade from Quitter's face, replaced with apprehension. Another hand wraps tight around her ankle, trying to drag her backwards. 

Right. All part of the _plan_. 

Suddenly, it doesn't sound like such a good idea. Not when she has something to lose. 

Pothos struggles forward and the crowd parts around her, frightened players backing away as she takes one, two steps forward against the invisible arms gripping her. She doesn't turn around to see whatever is causing that look of dawning horror on Quitter's face. 

She manages another shaking step, getting just a little bit closer. She's bent nearly in half now, muscles tensing as she throws all of her strength into gaining just a few more inches. Quitter reaches out their hand, but it's too far. 

"Taiga," Pothos whispers. "Taiga, I lo—" 

There's a hand around her throat now, choking her, cutting off her words, and her feet slip out from under her. In a matter of moments, Pothos is dragged across the floor and into a seam in the open air, pulled away from the dance, from her friends, from _Quitter_. 

Then everything is dry, and dark. 


End file.
